


Mine in All Ways

by Bennyhatter



Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Barebacking, Belts as bondage, Collars, Daryl likes being tied up and called a whore, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Drooling, I don't know what else to tag, I have no excuse for this, Like this is just literally filth, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Positions, Not for the faint of heart, Rick loves taking care of Daryl in whatever way he needs, Rough Sex, Spanking, Sub-Drop, and probably most of you adults too, begging kink, bottom!daryl, coming til it hurts, i'm not even joking, like children shield your eyes, needy/slutty!daryl, possessive!Rick, pure filth, scarred character, tattooed character, this is filthy filthy sex, top!rick, with gratuitous filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 11:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6283558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl needs to let loose for a little while. Rick knows exactly how let him do that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine in All Ways

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be posted yesterday in celebration of Saint Patrick's Day, but I was too tired by the time I was free to write it, so I'm posting it today.
> 
> This is your only warning: This. Is. Filth. Filthy hardcore downright raunchy sex.
> 
> You have been warned.
> 
> Proceed with caution.

They’re barely out of sight of the prison when Daryl hits the brakes. Rick sits up quickly, reaching for his colt and looking around to spot the trouble before he realizes that Daryl is looking at him, not out into the forest. He meets the archer’s stare and sees that his pupils are already blown wide, his eyes glazed over and his fingers twitching around the steering wheel.

“Please,” he says, soft and sweet and already sinking into that headspace he goes to when he needs Rick to take the reins for a while. His hunter is far from weak, but he can’t handle the responsibilities he’s taken since being put on the council without some kind of break now and then. He can be a strong leader, but too much pressure is liable to make him crack. Rick has seen it getting stronger in him the last few days. He’s been snappy and irritable toward the Woodbury folks and distant from the rest of their family.

No one would probably expect when meeting Daryl that he would ever be capable of any kind of submission. Rick hadn’t even realized it was there until he and Daryl had stopped dancing around one another and he realized that Daryl wasn’t being hesitant out of wariness or fear—he wanted to make sure Rick could give him what he needed.

“Okay, darlin’, okay.” Rick runs his fingers through his lover’s hair and shudders at the way Daryl whines when he gently fists the growing strands and tugs. “Switch with me. I’ve got it.”

They trade places, and he makes sure Daryl is settled in the passenger’s seat and waiting before he starts the car. He doesn’t put it in drive yet. There’s something else he has to do first.

“It’s in the glove compartment. Get it for me.”

Daryl fumbles with the latch, seeming almost drunk with how far gone he already is. If Rick had realized it was going to be like this, he’d have taken Daryl out days ago when he first started showing signs of needing it.

“You know you’re supposed to tell me when you need this, darlin’. Can’t wait until it gets this bad.”

“Had too much t’ do,” Daryl mutters, reaching into the glove compartment as soon as it’s open and digging beneath the various papers and junk to pull out a long strip of plain brown leather. He hands it over, pressing close and making quiet, needy sounds in the back of his throat as he waits as patiently as he can for Rick to buckle it around his neck. The collar is two inches wide, dark tan, and it looks beautiful against the paler skin of his archer’s throat. He makes it a little snug, and when he turns it so the buckle is hidden beneath his lover’s hair Daryl melts against him with a sigh—tucks his head under Rick’s chin and nuzzles into the underside of his jaw. When he feels the redneck’s tongue dragging through the shorter hairs of his beard that spread down his throat, he gently pushes him back and gives him a stern look.

“None of that. You know you gotta earn it. Hands were I can see ‘em.”

Daryl whimpers and his hips buck. He starts chewing on his thumb while Rick gets them back onto the road again and heads for the supermarket south of the Big Spot that Daryl and Glenn had stumbled across on their last run. There isn’t anything they desperately need at the prison, but Rick knows that Daryl needs quiet and solitude when he’s in this state, and Rick prefers it as well. He doubts anyone would have a problem with this aspect of their relationship, but it would probably shock them to see Daryl so vastly different from the rough, snarky man they’re so used to. His archer will never be afraid to tell them to fuck off right to their faces, but he also doesn’t think it’s any of their business what he does in his personal time.

The forest is starting to bloom as spring creeps in and takes over, melting away the last traces of winter with new life. It’s a warm day today, although most of the nights are still cool enough to require more than one thin blanket. Rick enjoys the scenery as he drives along, ignoring the few stray walkers stumbling toward the road as they’re drawn by the roar of the car’s engine. Daryl is staring out the windshield, his eyes still glassy and his breathing shallow.

“Tell me what we need back home.”

The archer shifts a little, one hand curling into a fist on the dashboard while the other remains by his face, his thumb caught between his teeth. “Carol wants seasonings fer th’ food,” he grunts, his voice muffled and his eyes pleading when he turns to look at Rick. He nods and waits, and Daryl whines as he tilts his head back. The collar presses firmly against his Adam’s apple and draws a quiet hiss from him as he shifts in a way that could be considered squirming if Rick had to put a word to it.

“What else?” he prompts when nothing else is forthcoming.

“Rick, please,” his archer whimpers, knocking his head back against the headrest and arching his back to lift his hips off the seat. The hand at his mouth drops to rest on the dashboard as well.

“Not yet, darlin’. Ain’t earned it.”

“Told ya, didn’t I?” Daryl huffs irritably. Rick clicks his tongue in warning and watches his lover slump back with a softer whine, his head falling forward so his growing bangs cover his eyes.

“After the fact. You’ve been coppin’ an attitude for the last few days, Daryl. I’ve been watching you. You know you’re supposed t’ find me when you need this.”

“You know we got too much goin’ on for it. They come first.”

Rick understands the importance of keeping the prison running smoothly. It’s been a weight off his shoulders to have stepped down and started his farm—to not have all of those expectations and the pressure that came with them drawing on him constantly. He could have handled it longer if they hadn’t brought in the Woodbury people. Once they had, though, he’d accepted Hershel’s advice and stepped back to give himself a break. He hadn’t liked it at first, but now that he’s done it, it’s given him a chance to spend more time with Carl, and relax as much as he’s able to when no day is guaranteed to end well.

“We had an agreement, Daryl. And when you can’t listen, there are consequences. So tell me, darlin’: What else do we need at the prison?”

There’s enough firm command in his tone that Daryl goes limp in his seat and rolls his head a little, no-doubt able to feel the way the collar digs into his shoulder and jaw from the angle and clearly enjoying it. There’s a serene look on his face, and one glance tells Rick that he’s completely relaxed now that he doesn’t have to worry about doing anything but what his lover tells him.

“Need new sheets t’ replace th’ old ones,” he mumbles, his words slurring as his eyelids droop. “New seeds fer yer garden. Spring plants.”

“What else?” Keeping his eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel, Rick reaches over to run his fingers through Daryl’s hair and smiles when his hunter whines and nuzzles into the contact.

“Couple’a foodstuffs we ain’t got much left of. Shit we got from them prisoners, mostly. ‘Taters, canned stuff.” Daryl’s cheek is warm against his palm, and he feels the wet curl of the archer’s tongue when Rick drags his thumb across his thin, chapped lips.

“Anything else?”

“Nothin’ we need, ‘less it looks useful.”

“Formula?”

“Got ‘nough fer a couple’a months yet. Li’l Asskicker’s fine.”

“Good. You just relax, Daryl. We’ll be there in a little while.”

Silence has never been an uncomfortable thing between them, even way back at the beginning when they first met. They’ve never needed to fill any quietness with idle, awkward chatter. Most times they only have to look at one another to convey what needs to be said, and it’s a skill that has come in very, very handy many times since Atlanta.

Right now, Rick relaxes back against his seat and focuses on driving, although he does glance at Daryl from the corner of his eye every once and a while. His hunter looks like he’s sleeping; his body is completely relaxed and his hands are limp against his thighs. He can see the barest hint of blue that tells him Daryl is watching the road, though, and he smiles to think that even like this, his lover is paying attention for any possible danger. His crossbow is within easy reach in the back seat, drawn and waiting for a bolt, but until he needs it he’ll leave it there.

They pass the Big Spot, and when Daryl whines softly and turns his head to watch it as they drive by, Rick tangles his fingers in the younger man’s hair and rumbles soothingly. He wasn’t there the day they lost Zach, but he knows how badly it affected Daryl, even if he never outright said it. His lover hates losing people, and even if he tried to come across as aloof and annoyed, he really did like Zach. The young man was probably one of the only people from Woodbury who treated him like a person and not a rabid mutt waiting to bite.

“Just breathe, sweetheart. C’mere.”

Daryl looks at him, his eyes wide and hopeful. When Rick nods, he’s quick to curl onto his side and lay his head on the farmer’s thigh with a happy noise. Glancing down to make sure he’s not positioned in a way that will lead to too much discomfort, he smiles at the blissed-out look on his archer’s face before fixing his attention on the leaf-covered road again and slowly running his fingers through Daryl’s surprisingly soft hair.

By the time they find the supermarket—some sprawling family-owned thing that lost its sign a long time ago, by the looks of it—Daryl is practically purring, and his hips are shifting a little. A quick tap against his temple stills them, and he looks up at Rick mournfully when he’s coaxed into sitting up. They share a look and some of the haze clears in his lover’s eyes as the man reaches back to grab his crossbow and they slip out of the car together. He and Glenn hadn’t seen many walkers when they’d found this place the first time, but there’s no telling if some have wandered in since then.

Rick leads the way, holstering his colt in favor of his knife as they creep toward the automatic doors that are barely open enough for them to squeeze through one at a time. Daryl covers him, never too far gone to respond to danger no matter what they’re doing. They sweep the store and find only two walkers. They kill them easily but don’t let their guard down as they head for the canned aisle to see what could be left.

As luck would have it, there’s plenty of everything. This must be one of those stores where people went for the stupid items rather than the necessities. That just makes it easier for them to load up their bags with everything they need—corn, peas, carrots, green beans, and everything else they can find. Rick is growing a lot of these vegetables in his gardens, but it never hurts to overstock, just in case.

The produce section is a mess, and the smell of rotted fruits and vegetables still lingers. They grab what they can, anyway, and work their way through the rest of the store to pick up anything else they can think of that they might need. With their packs bulging and heavier than Rick could have hoped, they head back to the car and leave them in the trunk before heading for the gardening section.

He’s checking the packets of seeds when Daryl presses up against his back and nuzzles the side of his throat. Rick doesn’t make him stop, just tilts his head a little bit to allow more contact as he continues to read the back of a packet of lettuce seeds. His lover whimpers and licks at his sweaty skin, his breath hot and eager as he pants and wraps his arms around Rick’s waist. They aren’t going to make it back home tonight—the supermarket was pretty far out, and he knows it’s going to take some time for Daryl to come down after Rick gives him what he needs. Still, they need to find somewhere to hole up for the night, so he keeps the lettuce seeds and grabs a few more various packets; clicks his tongue at Daryl to make the man let him go and smiles proudly at how quickly he obeys.

“I know what you need, darlin’. C’mon, let’s go find a place to sleep.”

A place to sleep turns out to be a one-story cape cod style house in a nearby neighborhood. It’s easy to secure and mercifully clear, so they board up the windows and bar the door, and Daryl drops to his knees in the middle of the living room before Rick can tell him to. The archer’s eyes are glazed again, his chest rising and falling quickly, and there’s a lovely flush on his cheeks that’s sweeping down his throat and making his skin look delicious in contrast to the thick collar.

“Need it bad, don’t you?”

“Rick, _please_ ,” he moans, his hips bucking as his head falls back a little to offer his neck.

“What do you want, Daryl?”

“Fuck me,” his lover whimpers, shrugging out of his jacket and vest and dragging his shirt over his head. Thank god he didn’t wear a button down today. Rick takes in the sight of him like this, his dark nipples already hard and the color of his need crawling across his chest and down toward his stomach. His jeans are loose at the waist, falling down despite the belt—which Rick has plans for—and showing off the lovely jut of his hip bones.

“Fuck you how, Daryl? You know you need to be specific.” He’s not doing this to tease his hunter. He needs to know how far this is going to go, so he can react accordingly. When Daryl drops onto his hands and starts to crawl toward him, his movements fluid and his shoulders dipping, Rick thinks of jungle cats prowling through the underbrush as they hunt. His lover isn’t hunting him, though, so he stands with his hands on his hips until the younger man reaches him and nuzzles against the front of his jeans, licking at the rough denim and flicking his tongue against the zipper like that will be enough to pull it down and give him access to what he wants so badly.

“Wanna be yer whore,” Daryl whispers, and God, something that filthy should never sound so fucking delicious coming from a man who puts bolts through walkers with such ease. Rick had never expected his lover to say anything like that to him, to _want_ anything like that, and the first time Daryl had been on his knees like this and had begged to be Rick’s _whore_ , he’d thought he was joking. He’s learned many times since then that Daryl never jokes about things like this.

“Do you, now? And do you think you’ve earned the right?”

The archer whines and rubs his cheek against the thickening swell of Rick’s erection, his hands falling limply between his knees as they spread. He turns to mouth at the bulge, whining again and looking up through his lashes.

“Wanna be good fer ya. Wanna be yer whore; be yer filthy cockslut. Want ya so deep inside, deeper’n anyone’s ever been. Fuck me ‘til I can’t talk no more, ‘til I can’t walk. Want yer cum, want all of it. Please, sir, _please_. Let me be yer whore.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “All right, how about you get out of those pants and show me what’s mine, then,” Rick says, his voice dipping low as he shoves Daryl back a little more roughly than he normally would. The man moans eagerly at the treatment, falling back on his ass and fumbling to loosen his belt and drag his pants and boxers down. He almost forgets to kick his boots off in his eagerness, but he’s quick to correct himself; arching his hips up off the floor and bracing himself with his shoulders and his bare feet as he shoves the denim down and kicks it the rest of the way off. His cock is hard and already leaking against his stomach, leaving a wet shine across his abdomen that makes Rick growl possessively. The only thing left is the collar, and God it’s such a pretty picture to see it wrapped around Daryl’s throat when there isn’t a stitch of cloth covering the rest of him.

Palming the length of his cock, Rick hums and tilts his head, narrowing his eyes a little and watching the way Daryl spreads his legs for him in response, his hips raised to give him an inviting view of his balls and ass. “Told ya t’ show me what’s mine, slut. Don’t tease.”

He used to feel like he was pushing his boundaries and degrading Daryl by calling him a slut or a whore or anything else like that, but his hunter moans so loudly it echoes off the walls and obediently rolls over and lifts his ass high for Rick to see it. He keeps his cheek pressed against the ground and his arms curled beneath him, his body trembling faintly from anticipation and drool already leaking from the side of his open, panting mouth.

Stepping closer, Rick pulls off his shirt and lets it drop, uncaring of where it falls. Daryl trembles harder as he gets closer, his pre-cum dripping to the floor now and his cock twitching eagerly as his hips rock. He probably knows what’s coming, but he still chokes on a sob when Rick slaps his ass hard enough that his hand stings and a dark red handprint blooms across the pale flesh almost instantly.

“Yes! Yes, please, more, fuck, beat it ‘til I can’t sit. Show me who I belong to.”

Rick grabs the back of the collar and hauls Daryl up by it, listening to him gasp as his air is cut off for a moment by the rough treatment. He presses back against Rick, begging silently for more as he wheezes and tears run down his cheeks to mix with the drool leaking from his mouth.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” he growls, and the archer shivers against him; lets his head fall to the side as soon as the pressure on the collar eases and moans when Rick bites at the slope where his neck and shoulder join. “You don’t ever tell me what to do. You’re my whore, and that means I tell _you_ what to do and you fuckin’ do it.”

It never used to be this easy. Back when they started this, Rick was hesitant and Daryl was a lot less open. He knew what he wanted, but his pride and his rough nature got in the way. He knew Rick could give him what he needed, but his hesitation still made him wary of seeking out his lover when he needed this. And Rick, who never expected Daryl to be the kind of person to drop to his knees and beg to be fucked until he could hardly move, was too afraid of hurting someone he cared about so much if they got carried away. He knows what he’s capable of, how much hurt he can inflict, how easy it is to blur the line between passion and violence when you’re lost in the moment, and he never wanted to hurt Daryl like that. He doesn’t want to be like those people who left scars on his archer and turned him into someone he was never meant to be.

Months of long talks and carefully-worded questions had happened before they ever got to the beginning of where they are now. Daryl knows how to stop this if it becomes too much, and Rick knows what to look for if he thinks his archer is under too much strain, but they’ve never had to, yet. Rick has never crossed a line, and Daryl has never been pushed too far.

“Wanna be your filthy cumslut,” the archer whimpers, arching his back to press as close as he’s allowed before Rick lets him go and shoves him forward. He drops down again instantly, raising his ass for more and moaning when Rick smacks him across his twitching hole. “Please, sir, may I have another?”

“That’s better,” Rick grunts. “Gonna splatter your load all over the carpet? Looks like you’re about ready to. Go ahead if you want. Ain’t gonna be the first time you do. Show me how bad you want it.”

The third blow lands and Daryl screams hoarsely as he comes, his whole body jerking and his hips bucking frantically as he paints milky strands against the floor just like Rick told him to. He pants through it, whining and keening, and Rick wishes he could see his face right now, but he knows he can’t give him too much time to recover. Part of what Daryl loves about them doing this so much is being made to come until it literally hurts and his cock is shooting dry, so Rick crouches down until he can better see the archer’s reddened, needy hole. He spits on it and smiles at the noise he hears in response; spits on it again and rubs his finger roughly against the twitching rim until it relaxes enough for him to press the tip inside.

“You really are eager, aren’t you? Want my cum so badly you can’t even control yourself. Wonder what people would say, if they could see you like this. Guess it doesn’t really matter, though, since you’re mine and I’m a possessive man. No one gets to see you like this but me. You got that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Daryl whispers, his hole clenching around Rick’s finger as he pushes it further inside. There’s too much resistance, and even if Daryl likes having his ass beaten black and blue, likes being called a whore and a slut and anything else Rick can think of, he will not run the risk of tearing his lover and making him bleed. For that reason, he pulls his finger out and goes to dig the lube out of his bag. They always try to keep some with them in general, because they have sex as often as they can get away with, even if it’s not like this.

When he turns around, Daryl has reached back and is fucking his own finger inside of himself, the way the fading light catches the shine on it telling Rick he’s probably wet it with his own saliva. He has to stop and gather himself for a second, because the archer’s face is turned a little toward him, his eyes completely black and his mouth open and wet, his tongue hanging out as he pants and whines and watches Rick.

“Filthy fuckin’ exhibitionist. Stop that, you slut. You know you’re not allowed.”

Daryl whimpers but tucks his arm back under his body, raising his ass a little higher and curling his toes when Rick comes back to stand over him. Before he gives his lover what he needs, he spots the gleam of the man’s belt buckle and remembers his plans for it. Tucking the lube into his pocket, he reaches over to drag the leather from the belt loops holding it.

“Arms where I can see ‘em. Since I can’t trust you not to touch, I’m gonna make it so you can’t.”

The way Daryl shifts his weight onto his shoulders so he can cross his arms behind his back is breathtaking. That can’t be a comfortable position at all, but god does it ever look gorgeous. Rick is going to have to make sure he supports him in a way that will take most of the weight off of his chest and face, but it’s worth it for the way Daryl looks when the belt is wrapped tightly around his wrists and up his forearms a little bit, fastened in a way that will keep it from coming loose but won’t be hard to undo afterwards.

Rick has gotten really good at restraining his lover while still being able to free him quickly if he needs to. Practice really does make perfect.

Popping the cap off the lube, he watches the way Daryl’s muscles shift and twitch eagerly at the sound. He grins wolfishly when he pours some of the cool gel down the heated crack of his hunter’s ass and smears it over his hole, sliding a finger in easily. He knows how Daryl likes to be stretched and fucked when he’s like this, so he gives him two fingers almost immediately, forcing them into his greedy, clenching hole and stretching them to watch the way the rim clings and pulls at them.

Daryl goes wild, sobbing and forcing himself back again and again to try and keep Rick as deep inside of him as he can. The farmer crooks his fingers and nails his lover’s prostate with enough pressure that it probably hurts, and Daryl comes a second time with a raspy whine. The way his muscles flutter and tighten around Rick’s fingers makes him impatient and eager to feel them around his cock, but he gives his lover a third finger and stretches him as much as he can stand, watching how he arches and rubs his cheek against the carpet and knowing he’ll probably have abrasions because of it.

“Look at you. Can’t help yourself, can you? Came twice already and you still want more, you greedy slut. You want me to fuck you so badly, don’t you.”

“Yes, yes please, sir, please, want ya ta fuck my greedy ass,” Daryl begs. “Fill me with yer cum, get it all over me. Wanna walk around with it on me so’s I remember that I ain’t mine, ‘m yers.”

“You’d better remember that even when you aren’t filthy with my cum,” Rick growls warningly, twisting his fingers on the way back out and dragging them along the sensitive nerves just for the thin scream the action drags from Daryl’s throat. He adds his pinky, rumbling at the tight stretch and feeling a surge of satisfaction when his lover welcomes him back in beautifully. “Don’t think I can wait much longer to pound this ass raw, though. Think you’ve earned it?”

“Please, yes, want yer fuckin’ cock. Ain’t I been a good boy? Want yer big cock so fuckin’ deep. Wanna feel every inch, sir, please. ‘M yer good whore. Wanna be so fuckin’ good fer ya.”

Pulling his fingers free, he watches the shudder that runs down Daryl’s spine and the way his gaping hole tries to close around nothing as he whines. He doesn’t like feeling empty—would probably walk around all day long with a plug stuffed up inside of him if Rick let him. It’s a tempting thought, but he knows he wouldn’t be able to control himself it he had to stare at Daryl all day and know exactly why he was walking like that and why his eyes were glazed and his cheeks were pinked. They would cause a scandal in the front courtyard and probably desecrate so many of the tables.

Yanking off his jeans and quickly slicking lube over his cock, he tilts his head and watches Daryl for a moment, building the anticipation in both of them and smirking in satisfaction at the way his lover squirms and whimpers quietly. When he finally gives in, he doesn’t offer a warning—just grabs Daryl’s hips and yanks him back as he shoves forward and sinks into hot, wet, clenching heat and hisses through his teeth.

Daryl’s scream cuts off before Rick even bottoms out, his gasps harsh and quick as he slams his forehead against the ground and clenches his fists behind his back until the strap of his belt cuts into his flesh.

“Yes! Yes, fuck yer whore!”

Leaving one hand on his lover’s hip, he grabs the back of the collar again with the other and drags Daryl up until his head is on Rick’s shoulder and his spine is arched to accommodate his hands being tied behind his back.

“What did I tell you about being demanding?” he growls as he rocks his hips what little bit he can.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t stop, please don’t ever stop,” the archer whines. His throat and chest are so wet from the combination of his saliva and his tears, and Rick yanks his head to the side so he can lick up some of it before feeding it back into the open, gasping mouth. He doesn’t give Daryl a kiss, because that’s not what this is about. Instead, he completely dominates his mouth, giving him no chance at reciprocation.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he growls when he pulls back, looking at his lover’s glassy eyes and his swollen, bruised mouth. “I’m gonna stop fucking your needy ass for a second, I’m gonna lay on my back, and you’re gonna ride me until you cum again. And then I’m going to fuck you against the wall until you paint that up, too. Gonna keep makin’ you cum until there ain’t nothin’ left in you, whore. And then maybe I’ll cum down your throat. Give you a nice treat if you’re good.”

Daryl is too overwhelmed to respond with words, just nods frantically and crawls onto Rick’s hips as soon as he’s laying back on the ground. He doesn’t try to help, just watches his hunter sink down on his cock and gasp out a choked-off keen as his weight and gravity help the older man to get even deeper.

“C’mon, work for that cum.”

There is no sight more beautiful in Rick’s opinion than seeing Daryl so utterly lost in sensation that he cannot control himself. He’s practically mute as he fucks himself on Rick’s cock, the muscles in his thighs tensing and relaxing as he uses them to lift up and drop back down. His shoulders are incredible to look at, so much broader than his waist and even more defined with how his arms are bound behind his back. When he finally comes it’s little more than a dribble of milky white, his cock jerking futilely and his eyes rolling back in his head. He can’t even bring himself to stop, even though the overstimulation has to be painful by now. He just keeps going, keeps rolling his hips again and again until Rick grabs them and angles him to slam into his prostate and grind against it. He’s not capable of screaming, just opens his mouth wider and gasps raggedly.

“Against the wall.”

Rick has to help him get across the room, because he’s too far gone to walk under his own power. As soon as they get there, Rick turns him to put his back against the faded yellow wallpaper and lifts him up as he slides back inside. He knows he told Daryl he was going to make him cum against the wall, but he doubts the archer will be able to hold himself up for long enough, and he likes being able to see Daryl’s face when he’s unable to restrain himself.

What a gorgeous face it is, too, flushed deep red and relaxed, his mouth still open and his eyes fluttering closed as he knocks his head back against the drywall and tightens his thighs around Rick’s waist as much as he can. He doesn’t even have enough left in him to beg, just takes and takes and clenches down greedily as his cum smears between them. Rick loves feeling it on his skin, likes to think it’s Daryl’s way of marking him, but he’ll never say that out loud—not when they’re like this.

He feels the younger man’s cock twitch as his muscles tighten painfully, and Rick stills his hips and watches Daryl ride it out. There isn’t enough in him left after coming so much in so little time, but the way his body relaxes and the tiny sound he makes lets Rick know that he’s gotten exactly what he needed.

“On your knees, cumslut. You’ve been good enough.”

Daryl doesn’t sink to his knees so much as fall, the impact sounding painful but his expression conveying his eagerness as he tilts his head back and opens his mouth obediently like the good boy he is. Rick fists a hand in his hair and yanks, just to watch the way his cock jerks and makes his cum drip down the shaft to mat in his pubic hair. God, he’s filthy, covered in sweat and cum and drool, and Rick’s so close to the edge that he doesn’t even bother trying to hold back anymore. As soon as his cock is so deep in Daryl’s throat that the hunter’s lips are stretched wide around the base, he groans and comes so hard his vision greys out a little, his hips working and the quiet sounds of Daryl choking as his throat tightens making everything more intense. Once as he’s able to regain most of his composure, Rick pulls back and helps the hunter to his feet; lets his lover lean against him as he unbuckles the damp collar and leaves it on the windowsill before unwinding the belt and letting that drop to the floor.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he coaxes gently, helping his exhausted and sore archer to the closest piece of furniture and laying him out on his side. Daryl’s ass is red, his hole still gaping, and there’s a brush-burn already coloring his cheek from where it had been dragging over the carpet. Petting through sweaty, tangled locks, Rick presses a kiss to his temple and goes to find a bottle of water and one of the snack baggies Carol had packed for them. He also grabs the blanket rolled and tied to the bottom of his pack.

Two minutes later and he’s got Daryl wrapped up like a burrito, his lover’s head resting against his chest as Rick sits lengthwise along the couch and cradles the younger man against his body so he can feed him little bites of food and give him sips of water. He praises him the whole time, whispering sweet words of devotion into Daryl’s ear and feeling how his shaking slowly stops until he finally sighs and nuzzles his face against Rick’s throat. A kiss is brushed across his Adam’s apple, and he smiles.

“Feel better, darlin’?” he murmurs. Daryl groans.

“Feels like I ain’t gonna be able to walk fer a few days,” the archer whispers, his voice hoarse and scratchy. “But yeah, I feel so much fuckin’ better. Thank you, Rick.”

“Ain’t gotta thank me, Daryl. I’ll always give you what you need.”

“What I fuckin’ need is a massage, now.”

Rick chuckles and urges Daryl to sit up so he can climb off the couch and go get the lotion. “All right then. I can do that. You just lay there and let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

“Yes, sir.”

It’s cheeky and as snarky as Daryl can manage right now, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes return to their normal, vibrant blue. He watches Rick as he digs through the pack until he finds the bottle he’s looking for, and when he turns around with it his archer is already laying on the blanket with his arms folded beneath his head, the long line of his spine dipping gracefully before curving up to the swell of his red, bruised ass.

“You’re gonna be the death of me some day, Daryl Dixon.” Smiling, Rick shakes his head and returns to his lover’s side, checking his wrists and rubbing lotion into the bruises already darkening the skin there before he works up those long, defined arms and gives those sore shoulders all the attention they deserve. They’re so strong, capable of carrying so much, and he’s honored every day that Daryl trusts him enough to take the weight that bears down on them when it becomes too taxing.

“What a way to go though, huh? Fuckin’ me ‘til we both die. Sounds like a good death, to me.”

What a way to go indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for riding the Rickyl Express today. Please proceed to the exits in an orderly fashion, and take all trash and/or sundry items with you. Enjoy the rest of your day, and please feel free to visit us again. The Rickyl Express is always here for whatever you need.


End file.
